


like shooting a sitting duck

by knapp_shappeys



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe, Banter, F/F, Femslash February, First Meetings, Heist, this is the PEAK of self indulgence and i’m not even pretending it’s not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:06:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29282712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knapp_shappeys/pseuds/knapp_shappeys
Summary: It turns out that falling in love with the missing heiress to the Liechtenstein-Sponheim jewelry business is, on the whole, much easier than actually finding her.
Relationships: Linda Fairbairn/Theresa of Liechtenstein
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	like shooting a sitting duck

**Author's Note:**

> hi i wrote this instead of working on my WIP :’)
> 
> title from ABBA’s “Lay All Your Love On Me.”

Every agent in every intelligence agency on the planet knew the three letters like the backs of their hands. 

_ OJS.  _

For each agent, they meant something different. 

Some took them at face value— _ Our Jewels Still,  _ the organization specializing in bloodless and high-profile jewel heists that struck private collections and vaults at random, leaving public museums and accessible collections untouched. 

Some associated them with their most frustrating cases, the ones where the agents of OJS had led them so close that they thought they would be able to catch them, then evaded the intelligence agents at the very last moment. 

Some were obsessed with determining the identities of the people comprising OJS. Nobody knew how many there were in the organization at a time—the prevailing theory was that it consisted of a central group of three or four that encouraged smaller groups to carry out heists in their name.

For investigative specialist Linda Fairbairn, however, those three letters were attached to a file—a sheaf of lists and photographic evidence, a paper trail with the face of a woman who kept secrets and kept them well.

Theresa Gustava Bonaventura von Liechtenstein-Sponheim, the eldest successor in line to take over the matriarchy of the famed Liechtenstein-Sponheim family of jewelers. She had mysteriously disappeared several years before, sparking an international search operation. Cash rewards had been promised—then a knighthood, lastly a share in the family business, tucked away somewhere in the Alps between Switzerland and Austria.

Theories had abounded as to where the heiress had gone—an elopement with a lesser figure, an abduction by a rival, an assassination from within out of jealousy. 

Linda was the only one who had drawn a line between the jewelers’ daughter and the jewel-stealing organization. 

A thin line, granted, but a line. 

Not many people agreed with Linda—why on earth would the potentially wealthiest woman on the planet want to associate with the group that sought to divest the rich and powerful of that type of wealth? For most, it didn’t make sense, and they demanded an explanation from Linda. 

The crucial point was this: Linda didn’t have an explanation. 

What she had was a compulsion. To take her in one day. To bring her in, and to find out the truth.

Which was what had found her on her motorbike, racing across a Parisian bridge in pursuit of a woman on a scooter. 

“Hold fire!” Linda ordered into her intercom, broadcasting the command to her cell of agents lying in wait. 

As they neared the middle of the bridge, Linda slowly half-rose out of her seat, leaned over to one side to act as ballast, and fired two quick shots from her issued pistol, aiming for the back wheel of the scooter in front of her. 

Her aim was true. 

After all, she had been trained well. 

As the figure in front of her cried out, losing control and jumping off the scooter just before it ground to a halt, Linda swerved and braked, putting her bike on stand. Yanking her helmet off, she shook out her hair and picked up her gun. 

The figure dashed away from the scooter, trying to run from Linda. 

“Not so fast,” Linda called out, leaving her gun pointed at the ground and smirking as she saw a unit of agents in riot gear block the opposite end of the bridge. “Let me get a look at you.”

The figure stopped stock-still, shoulders heaving—whether from exertion or panic, Linda couldn’t tell—before turning around slowly and putting two gloved hands up, palms toward Linda. 

Satisfaction coursed through Linda as she saw her eyes, the eyebrows, and of course the distinct nose and mouth of the Liechtenstein-Sponheim jewelers. 

She was just like the picture at the top of the file, the one Linda had photocopied and snuck out of the office. The one she took home with her, taped up wherever she went in her flat—over the microwave, on top of the television, on the bathroom mirror, over the snooze button on the alarm clock. The picture she kept in her pocket wherever she went. 

“Theresa Gustava Bonaventura von Liechtenstein-Sponheim,” Linda said, stepping forward, relishing each syllable as they fell from her tongue. “I’ve been looking forward to today for a long time.”

“I might say the same,” Theresa returned smoothly with a decidedly Central European lilt, backing toward the bridge’s edge. Linda could see her eyes darting all about behind her sunglasses, looking for a way out. “Granted, I don’t know you.”

“You don’t need to.” Linda matched her, step for step. ”May I see the jewels you’ve just taken, or would that be an inconvenience?”

“Not at all.” Theresa took out a bundle from her coat pocket and shook it. A faint jangle issued from within—the tiara of a long-dead tsar’s wife, embedded with a coveted piece of jade among other precious stones. “Look with your eyes, though. Not with your fingers.”

“Does that rule just not apply to you?”

Despite the tension, Theresa laughed, showing off slightly crooked teeth. “Smart.”

“It’s my job.”

“ _ What’s  _ your job?” Theresa tipped her head to one side, still dangling the jewels from one hand.

“To bring you in, if you’ll come quietly.”

“What makes you think I’ll do  _ that?” _

“I might’ve thought you’d have wanted to see your family again.” Linda began to move forward slowly.

An inexplicable flash of pain crossed Theresa’s countenance, but she suppressed it quickly and turned it into an expression of open curiosity. “What family?”

“Oh, don’t play stupid.”

“They’re not family.” Theresa rolled her eyes. 

“Then…then who is?” Linda kept a firm grip on her weapon, heart racing.

“Dear heart,” Theresa smiled coldly, “you already know the answer.”

“And if you allow me to take you in quietly, you can verify it.”

“Oh, darling, are you  _ still  _ laboring under the impression that I’m going to come in quietly? Or betray my family?” Theresa surveyed her nails, assuming an expression of boredom. “No, I don’t think I’ll do that.”

“Your  _ family _ is a criminal group!”

Theresa looked aside and eyed Linda coolly. “Who do you work with?” Her eyes flicked up and down Linda’s figure. “International Court of Justice?”

“Well—” Linda didn’t readily admit it, but her hesitation made it clear to Theresa that her guess had been correct. The woman before her smirked.

“Distributive justice. We deal in distributive justice, ever heard of it?” Theresa drawled, leaning back against the bridge’s wall. 

“I’m afraid we don’t have time for that. You can tell me about it,” Linda aimed her pistol, “when I take you in.”

“Oh, that’s a pity.” 

“Come again?”

“That’s a pity,” Theresa repeated, sliding her sunglasses partway down her nose. “Because you know, I don’t feel like doing that today. I’d much rather explain out here, over the Seine, on this lovely bridge—distributive justice, that is. It’s a shame you don’t want to hear about it now. I’ve got friends over in the Vatican that so love to talk about it—”

“Enough!” Linda managed. “Enough of this.”

“Yes.” Theresa nodded, lowering her hands. “You’re right. That’s quite enough of this. Besides, if I’m right…my ride’s here.” She pointed over Linda’s head, and without thinking, Linda followed her finger.

The womping of helicopter blades filled the air as a plain helicopter bore down on the two of them, sharply making a turn to reveal an open door.

From her post in front of Linda, Theresa whistled shrilly and shouted, “Hey, Doug darling, if you could just take my bags?” before wheeling back and launching the jewels into the moving helicopter. 

“No!” Linda lunged forward, and Theresa laughed merrily, clapping her hands as the chopper lifted and banked away. “How—”

“I’m afraid we don’t have time for that,” Theresa mimicked. “I might tell you later, if we meet again.”

Linda froze. “What?”

“That wasn’t my  _ ride,”  _ Theresa waved her hand at the sky. “Not today it wasn’t. But this time, my ride really is here. It was nice meeting you, but I do have to go.”

She flashed one last brilliant smile at Linda, and Linda did not realize what she was going to do until it was too late.

“No!” she shrieked, lunging forward again as Theresa vaulted over the wall’s edge and plunged off the bridge with a cheerful laugh.

And by the time Linda had raced over to the bridge rail and looked at the flowing river below, the maddeningly elusive heiress had vanished once more.


End file.
